Fear
by ThatRosieSparkle
Summary: Draco has been taught certain rules, and breaking them is the ultimate failure. WARNING: contains references to self harm and suicide. One-sided Draco/Harry


**A/N: I'm back! School and Christmas and blah has got in the way but I have been messing with this one since long before the holidays and have finally tweaked it to my satisfaction. It was the idea more than anything that I liked, and I hope I did it justice. Enjoy!**

Fear

Draco sat, teetering on the ledge. His mercury eyes glanced downwards, taking in the grey stone wall that fell sharply away to the ground below; a sheer cliff beneath him. Wind whipped his platinum blond hair into his face, each pale strand snapping viciously at his skin.

He looked down again: at the silver green grass glinting invitingly in the moonlight; at the deep pool of liquid oblivion that was the great lake, surface perfectly smooth, a sheet of icy blackness; at the softly swaying trees of the Forbidden Forest, a slow dance to Draco's calm, rhythmic heartbeat.

He had looked death in the face before. He had seen murder sparking in a Death Eater's eye and he had cowered, afraid. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he'd cried, panic stricken, desperation flashing wildly in his grey eyes, "I'm Draco, I'm on your side."

It was pitiful, really, how readily he'd sacrificed his dignity, his pride, his honour, in order to simply stay alive. Shameful how easily submission had come to him. He was supposed to be a Malfoy. Malfoys did not bow down to anyone. And yet he had. Fear had gotten the better of him.

But he had not let fear defeat him again. Every time cold metal tore paper-thin skin, he was afraid. And every time he fought it. Overcame it. He was a Malfoy; he would not fear anything or anyone, no matter how much they could hurt him.

_He flew across the sky, seeming so graceful, so majestic. Slender arms spread, trailing through the air behind him. Delicate frame twisted and arched, as though performing acrobatics to an invisible crowd. Pale hair fluttered in the breeze, a silver crown atop his thrown back head. His eyes were closed, a tentative smile playing across his parted lips, caught in an eternal gasp for air. Silence. Hanging in the air like a droplet about to fall from the end of a leaf, he seemed to be the embodiment of acceptance, suspended for a few seconds longer only by a lingering will to live._

Fragile wrists wrapped loosely around his knees. Thin scars stood out bright white against his parchment skin, threading their way up his arms like the tear tracks glittering on his alabaster cheeks. His stormy eyes churned, specks of bright silver glinting like the stars that hung exquisitely in the midnight blue above him.

He got to his feet, slender arms braced against the sides of the window. He swung forward, leaning over the ledge, taking in the empty space between him and his goal. Fear washed over him, panic crept up his spine, cold adrenaline coursed through his veins. Every instinct he had cried at him to run the other way, but he would not back down; he would not give in. He would not let fear control him, just as he hadn't let it control him every day since the war. Now was not the time to surrender. Now was not the time to be afraid.

_The cold night screamed past his ears, lashing at every inch of him. He fell; time stopped to watch, waiting for eternity. Black robes swirled, body contorted. __He writhed in the air, a puppet on the cruel strings of fate. The ground sucked him towards it, pulling at his body, tendrils of gravity snaking around his torso, battling with the air through which he still had to dive._

"Don't"

A quiet voice carried from the doorway towards Draco as he stared complacently into the distance.

Draco couldn't bring himself to turn around. He was on the brink of letting go; balancing on a razor sharp edge off which he was about to fling himself mercilessly. It would be so easy to just let go, release his tight grip on the cold stone and leave the rest to fate. He wouldn't be missed: Slytherin had come to loathe the self-deprecating wreck of a leader they had once had, choosing to ignore Draco in the vain hope he would become bored of whatever phase he was having and worshipping Blaise Zabini in the meantime.

Draco had slipped into the shadows of everybody's awareness, attracting no attention to himself and drawing out his lonely torment of self-loathing into an endless succession of silent reflection and screaming frustration. His mother had fled the country while his father remained in the family manor, manipulating the remaining Death Eaters through blackmail and extortion, pretending his disappointment of a son had died when he was supposed to.

The cutting voice pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the harsh reality of where he was: leaning out of a window on the eighth floor of the castle.

"Why not?" asked Draco maliciously, still gazing into empty space, not looking at the source of the voice.

"Just don't," it asked, calmly, "I know how you're thinking."

Draco spat out a laugh. "No," he hissed, "you have no idea."

"I do," the voice continued.

"You do not," Draco argued, teetering precariously, leaning slightly more forward, allowing the gentle breeze to blow at his platinum hair that gleamed like silver in the moonlight.

"Yes, I do," persisted the stranger.

Draco snapped, spinning around to face the intruder. His face was twisted in irritation, lip curled. "How could you possibly know what's going through my mind?" he snarled.

"Because," spoke the raven-haired boy softly, "I was exactly where you are right now a year ago."

Draco faltered. Harry Potter? Why on earth would the-boy-who-lived, The Chosen One, Dumbledore's favourite, the saviour of the wizarding world, come any where near a window at the top of a disused tower?

"Come down, Draco," reasoned Harry. _Since when did Potter call me Draco?_, the Slytherin mused to himself. _Only every night_, a second voice jeered from the back of Draco's mind.

_Harry's back arched, pressing himself against Draco._

_Draco shouted, clawing at Harry's bronzed torso, parchment skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat._

_Harry planted hot kisses on Draco's writhing body as the blond moaned heavily._

_Draco's eyes raced over Harry's face, drinking in every flaw, every perfect imperfection._

Draco shook himself and looked across at the boy in the doorway. His green eyes were glittering in the moonlight, brow furrowed in concern, dark hair unruly, falling across his tanned face. "Talk to me, Draco."

Opening his mouth to reply, Draco's own mercury grey came to meet with the emeralds across the room and he stopped, sudden fear rising in his chest. Images of his father, of Voldemort, of Death Eaters, of his mother, bombarded him. His head was a mess. Voices shouted, screamed at him, eyes stared and watched from every direction. Draco was lost in the chaos trying to engulf him as he stared into those emerald eyes. While everything else was spinning, Harry remained fixed, an anchor to reality.

But as Draco tried to fight away the madness that was beginning to blind him and focus on the boy in front of him, he saw Harry in his mind's eye: long flaming hair draped across his neck as poisonous lips whispered in his ear, grinning.

For although Draco wanted, needed, Harry, he was more afraid of the Gryffindor than anything. The way Draco crumbled beneath his piercing stare, the fear of rejection or betrayal should Draco ever tell him. Draco loved Harry, but loathed and despised the fear that rose inside him upon the thought of the-boy-who-lived.

He was a Malfoy; he should not fear anything or anyone.

_Draco closed his eyes and threw back his head, long fingers opening and allowing the stone wall to simply slip away, launching himself into the darkness he longed for. From the doorway, Harry lunged forwards, arm outstretched as if reaching for an invisible snitch: "NO"_

_Sweet release, a sigh of relief as Draco hung in the air before plummeting towards the earth, arms spread eagle; a last ditch attempt to fly away._

Twisting in the air, the ground loomed before Draco and his blood turned to ice:

He was a Malfoy, and he was afraid.

**When I first read that line from book seven ("I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco I'm on your side"), Draco's drastic change in demeanour really shocked me, so I thought I'd write about it. This is my first work using a stimulus from the books and I'd be really interested to know what you thought.**

**Go! Review!**


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